by Joan Hess
"Robin Buchanon is gone."
"And that's dreadful? I think we ought to buy a bottle of champagne-no, let's get a whole dadburn case of champagne and invite the neighbors over for a celebration. I'll stop by the Kwik-Screw for a box of Ritz crackers and some onion dip, and we'll party 'til the sun peeks over the tallest tree in the national forest. What's more, you can offer the first toast." Good thing I hadn't made a New Year's resolution to stop needling her-those who claim the copyright to half the Bible are such easy targets.
"It is not a source of amusement-and neither are you. You know perfectly well that I wouldn't touch alcohol with a ten-foot pole. I am a good Christian woman. Now, are you going to stop being a smart aleck and listen, or do I have to call Jim Bob long distance all the way to Hot Springs and tell him that you're shirking your duty as chief of police?"
"Gee, do the telephone wires go all the way to Hot Springs?"
"You listen to me, Ariel Hanks-I am fed up with your remarks. Now once and for all, are you going to hear me out or not?"
I put the beeper away and took a pad out of the middle drawer. "Do you want to file a missing persons report, ma'am? We can have the FBI here within the hour."
She nibbled on her unsullied lips (cosmetics being a vanity that led straight to you-know-where). "Well, I suppose so. But that's not the reason I-"
"Victim's full name and address, please. Date of birth. Physical description, including any and all warts, moles, tattoos, and scars. Next of kin in case something terrible has happened. Name of dentist, should we need dental records for purposes of identification. When last seen and by whom." I poised my pencil and gave her a bright smile. "But you feel free to take your time, Mrs. Jim Bob. It's a long report, but if we hang in there, we can do it." If she wanted officiousness, she was going to get it. Ad nauseam and then some.
"I don't know those things any better than you do, Arly."
I threw the pencil in the trash can, scoring two points along the way. In an aggrieved voice, I said, "Then why don't you just tell me how I'm supposed to fill out the report and put it on the telex to the FBI? I'm trying my damndest to follow procedure, but I'm not getting any assistance from you, if you don't mind me saying so. Those FBI fellows get hotter than a peck of parsnips if they get called in on some wild-goose chase." I toyed with suggesting that Robin was shacked up in a Hot Springs hotel room, but lost my nerve at the last minute.
I could see she wasn't quite sure whether I was ribbing her or not. She twisted her gloves for a full minute, then concluded that I was and gave me a hundred watt frown. "You want proof? Well, you just sit there and I'll be back with proof!" She stomped out the door.
I was trying to unscrew the back of the beeper when she stomped back in the door, dragging a small figure who looked mighty miserable under a tangle of black hair.
"This," she said triumphantly, "is one of Robin Buchanon's bastard children." She shoved the figure forward. "You tell the policewoman what happened and be quick about it. Take your finger out of your mouth while you speak, so's she can understand you. And speak up nice and loud."
The child looked to be about nine or ten, and was blessed with the simian features of the Buchanon clan. He/she wore dirty, ragged overalls, with neither shirt nor shoes. "I ain't talking to no police," he/she said in a mumble I could barely hear from four feet away. I could, however, smell a sourness that was clear evidence of lack of familiarity with soap and water for quite a while.
Mrs. Jim Bob prodded a shoulder. "Stop that nonsense and tell the policewoman your name. If you don't, she'll lock you up in a dark, wet cell and let the rats eat your face until you feel more obliged to talk."
"I ain't talking."
You've got to admire spunk. Smiling, I said, "I'm fresh out of dungeons and rats today. Why don't you at least tell me your name? It can't hurt. In fact, I'll bet you have a real pretty name."
"Like shit you do."
Mrs. Jim Bob grabbed the shoulder and gave it a shake hard enough to make brain milkshake. "We will not tolerate that sort of language. Didn't your mother teach you anything at all, you filthy-mouthed heathen?"
"Yeah-not to talk to cops unless'n I wanted the shit beat out of me."
Needless to say (but I'm saying it anyway), that did not sit well with Hizzoner's wife. Only her sense of Christian charity stopped her from following Robin Buchanon's guide to rearing perfectly correct children. She huffed and snorted for a long time, while I studied the child, who was busy studying me right back. "Is your mother missing?" I asked once everybody'd finished doing whatever he/she was doing.
"I dunno. Don't care neither."
Mrs. Jim Bob pushed her witness aside. "What happened is that I chanced to find this little heathen rooting through the garbage cans behind the store. I knew at once who he was and demanded to know how he had the audacity to steal right there in broad daylight. Once I'd assured him that he could go to jail for a long spell, not to mention other places for the sin of lying, he said that he and his brothers and sisters had been alone for several days with no food."
The child, who could by now be presumed male, gave me a sly look. "You cain't arrest me, because I didn't take nothing. The old bitch came out afore I could find sumpthin' worth taking. What was in those cans were meaner than gar-broth, anyways."
The old bitch started huffing. "You remember what I said about finding yourself locked in eternal damnation for the sin of cursing? If I hear one more foul word from you, I'm going to wash your mouth out with a bar of soap-and it won't be Ivory, either."
"Fuck you, lady."
We were having real success with this one. I gave Mrs. Jim Bob a wry smile meant to convince her of the futility of the situation (which was about as futile as they get), and said, "Well, I see no point in continuing this. The child is unwilling to make a statement. I can't take any action based on the information we have, so if you'll excuse me, I need to follow the school buses to the county line. We wouldn't want our youth jeopardized by those who fail to stop for school buses." Which would also allow me to breathe through my nose instead of my mouth.
"Don't be absurd. You must go to the cabin and investigate. If the mother is truly missing then you must bring the rest of the heathens back to town."
"I shall presume all that heavy breathing has induced hyperventilation," I said. "Go home and breathe into a paper bag."
"It is your Christian duty. Think of those poor, starving children all alone in the forest."
I stood up and clipped on my beeper. "If it's anyone's Christian duty, Mrs. Jim Bob, it's yours. Feel free to think all you want about those poor, starving children all alone in the forest. Tell this child the story of Hansel and Gretel until you turn blue in the face. But you're crazier than a flea on an elephant if you think I'm going up there, especially on some vague notion that Robin may have taken a hike for a couple of days."
"More'n that," the witness contributed. "And the baby ain't had tit for a long while. He's a-cryin' and a-mewin' all the time."
I glared at the child. "What's your name?"
"Hammet."
"Okay, Hammet," I said through clenched teeth, are you willing to tell me the whole story now? I'm hardly in the mood to sit here all afternoon and drag it out of you one word at a time."
Mrs. Jim Bob nodded as if she had singlehandedly pulled off a damn coup d'état in South America. "Of course Hammet will cooperate with the authorities. He doesn't want to go straight to hell on a freight train, does he?"
"Ain't never been on a train," Hammet muttered. "I heard 'em on t'other side of the ridge, though. How fast do you reckon they can go?"
This whole thing was going too fast for yours truly. "I will listen to the story," I said. "If it seems warranted, I will go so far as to borrow a fourwheel-drive jeep from the sheriff's office and try to find Robin's cabin out there in the middle of nowhere. If she has not returned, I will even fill the backseat with heathens and transport them back to town." I crossed my arms and stared at Mrs. Jim Bob.
"Do you have any suggestions as to what I do next?"
She tried to pretend she missed the point. "Why, you do everything possible to find Robin and reunite her with her children."
"And until I find her?" I persisted, not missing a beat. "What do I do with the children until then?"
Mrs. Jim Bob paled. "Why, I'm sure you'll find a nice, warm, safe place for them to stay. They'll need food, beds, and clean clothing, of course, but they won't be any bother once they're fed and…disinfected."
I looked down at Hammet. "See this kind, Christian woman just brimming with charity? She lives way on the top of a hill, in a great big house with lots of bedrooms and bathrooms, and her refrigerator is bigger than the broad side of a barn. Ooh, it's just stuffed full of good things to eat, like meat and 'taters and cookies and ice cream. How would you and all your dear little brothers and sisters like to visit her?"
"I think," Mrs. Jim Bob said in a strangled voice, "that I'd best go see Brother Verber at the Voice Of the Almighty Lord Assembly Hall. I feel a sudden need for prayer."
I let her stumble away. Then, after opening the back door and the windows, I sat Hammet across the room and we got down to business.
4
Don't think for a minute that Hammet Buchanon spilled out his little heart to me. For one thing, I wouldn't have bet a dollar that he had one; for another, he was about as credible as a televangelist claiming a hotline to God and requesting help with the phone bill. Hammet finally admitted he and his brothers and sisters had been alone for four or five days, and hadn't had much of anything in the way of vittles. When last seen, their mother was going 'seng hunting. I inquired where her patch was. He shot me a suspicious look and told me it weren't none of my goddamn business. What a cutie.
I considered various responses, then settled for a sigh. "Let's get you something to eat, Hammet. I'll call the sheriff's office to see if we can borrow a four-wheel and run up to the cabin. If your mother's still missing, I suppose we'll bring your siblings back to town and deal with the situation then."
"Ain't got none."
"None of what?" I said absently as I clipped on my beeper.
"Them that you said."
I thought about it for a minute, then realized what he meant. "Siblings are brothers and sisters, Hammet. How about a big, greasy cheeseburger and a glass of milk?"
He didn't budge. "Why ain't they brothers and sisters?"
"It's another word that means brothers and sisters, I said, taking his shoulder strap to propel him toward the door.
"Why din't you jest say brothers and sisters?"
Cursing Mrs. Jim Bob under my breath (although I doubted I used any words not an integral part of the child's vocabulary), I dragged him out the door while explaining that there were often several words that meant the very same thing. I could tell he didn't believe a word of it.
We were still exploring the delicate issue of semantics as we went into Ruby Bee's. The proprietor's mouth fell open as I put Hammet on a bar stool, then hopped up on the next stool and gave her a bright smile. "Why, Arly," she said, "whoever is your little friend here?"
"Hammet Buchanon. He's one of Robin's children, and he's starving. How about a cheeseburger and a glass of milk?"
She wrinkled her nose. "Well, he's welcome to something to eat, but don't you think he might like to wash up first?"
I could tell she was thinking of a prolonged session with a sandblaster rather than a cursory encounter with soap and water in the rest room. "He hasn't had anything to eat in several days," I said. "Let's get him fed; then I'll take him back to my apartment and bathe him."
"The hell you will," contributed the object of the conversation. "Sure as cow shit stinks I ain't taking no goddamn bath. Done took one a while back."
Ruby Bee blinked, first at Hammet and then at me. "He has quite a colorful vocabulary, doesn't he? I'll start the cheeseburger right away. Would he like a bag of chips while I'm fixing it?"
"Would you?" I asked Hammet.
"Yeah, what the fuck," he conceded with a shrug.
Ruby Bee had enough sense not to roll her eyes and demand a "please" from this customer. She marched away, but I could hear her mutters all the way through the kitchen door. After a minute I heard her shrilly repeating the conversation, presumably to Estelle. I wanted to escape to the kitchen and explain that none of this was my idea to begin with, but I settled for yet another sigh, then said, "I'm not asking you where the ginseng patch is. All I want to know is if you know where it is."
"Nope. Her never did say. Somewhere on t'other side of the ridge. It were grandpappy's oncet upon a time."
"How long does your mother stay gone when she's 'seng hunting?"
"I dunno. Don't care neither. She's a mean ole sow and I hope the bears et her for supper."
"How many brothers and sisters do you have?" I asked, hoping this sudden loquaciousness would last. I'd been at Robin's cabin on another matter, and I'd seen children hovering in the shadows. But at that time I was too concerned with an escaped convict, a kidnapped bureaucrat, and all sorts of crazy shenanigans to try to count those shifting, feral creatures.
"I has four"-he paused to give me an unfathomable look "siblings, being Bubba, Sissie, Sukie, and Baby. Baby don't count for much 'cause he's too little to do anything exceptin' cry and shit in his britchins. He's about as useless as tits on a boar hog. You reckon we can jest leave him in the baby trough?"
"I doubt it, Hammet." I tossed him a bag of corn chips and spent the next five minutes praying Robin would be at the cabin when we got there. I could hand over Hammet, compliment her on her ginseng, and scoot right back down the mountain. Alone.
Ruby Bee came through the door, a plate in her hand and a disapproving expression on her face. "Here's your food," she said, banging down the plate in front of Hammet.
He bent down to sniff over the plate like a leery polecat. "What be this stuff?"
"A cheeseburger with lettuce, tomato, onions, pickle relish, and mustard. I might add that I am often told I fry the best cheeseburger on this side of Starley City," Ruby Bee said. She didn't sound real friendly.
"I ain't eating this crap." Hammet pushed the plate away and lunged for another bag of corn chips.
I caught his wrist and explained that he was going to eat the cheeseburger, one way or another, and that one of those ways included physical acts on my part and a great deal of discomfort on his. He offered a comment that implied I had engaged in a series of unnatural sexual encounters with various barnyard animals. Ruby Bee cut in with a few comments that might have come from the prissy lips of dear Mrs. Jim Bob. Hammet repeated the terse yet effective witticism that gave Mrs. Jim Bob the bout of hyperventilation. Ruby Bee slapped her hand to her heart and started hyperventilating. I suggested everybody shut up. Nobody did.
We were going at it real good when the kitchen door opened and out waddled Dahlia O'Neill. She was wearing her customary tent dress (which could have slept six-and probably had on more than one occasion) and an apron embroidered with daisies and her name. The sight stopped me in mid-word. Even Hammet broke off with a gasp, giving Ruby Bee the golden opportunity to swoop in for the last word. A favorite hobby of hers.
"I have never in all my born days heard such filthy language. You just eat that cheeseburger right now, young man!" She stepped around Dahlia and vanished into the kitchen.
"How ya doing, Arly?" Dahlia said.
"Fine," I croaked. "What are you doing here?"
"I'm the new barmaid. Madam Celeste-do you know her? Well, anyways, she told me that I needed to make what she called a career move, so I quit my job at the Kwik-Screw. Ruby Bee done hired me as a barmaid, and it's working out right nice. She, meaning Madam Celeste and not Ruby Bee, told Kevin the exact same thing, which is why he's cleaning the commodes at the high school and sweeping nights at the PD. You must of seen him, Arly-you being the chief of police and all."
"I've seen him," I admitted. Maybe Madam Celeste would counsel a career move for me
. Something in the range of five hundred miles.
Dahlia beamed. "I figured out you had. You want I should get you a beer or something?"
"I'll take coffee, and Hammet'll have a glass of milk."
She figured out how to open the refrigerator under the bar for milk and, after a few false moves, how to coax coffee from the urn. All this in less than five minutes, too. Hammet tore into the cheeseburger with the grace of a hyena, splattering his bare torso and a goodly part of the immediate area with grease. By the time Dahlia put a glass in front of him, he'd polished the burger off and was peering from under his brow at the chips.
"I'll ask this woman to bring you a piece of pie-if you agree to a bath afterward," I said.
"Don't need no goddamn bath." He rubbed his palm across his glistening front, then carefully licked it.
"But are you willing to submit to one in exchange for a piece of Ruby Bee's homemade apple pie-with a scoop of ice cream?"
"I don't need no goddamn bath 'til next year. Creek's colder'n a well-digger's ass."
"My creek is not, however. My creek is warm, and it doesn't have any crawdads, snapping turtles, minnows, or rusty cans in it. Deal?"
He nodded without enthusiasm. Dahlia, who'd been listening to all this with a perplexed look, served the pie and even remembered the ice cream. His enthusiasm restored, Hammet tore into it.
"Why's he with you?" Dahlia asked, her cheeks puffed out like a bullfrog's on a summer night as she watched Hammet slurping his way through dessert.
"In the metaphysical sense, I have no idea. Mrs. Jim Bob gave him to me, and I haven't figured out how to pass him along to someone else." I nudged my ward. "You ready for a bath and an exciting ride in a jeep?"
We went to my apartment, and he did indeed take a bath while I washed his overalls in the sink, then dashed over to the Suds of Fun and stuck them in a dryer for a few minutes. When I returned, I threw them into the bathroom. I then called the sheriff's office to arrange for a vehicle worthy of logging trails, dried-out creek beds, animal carcasses, and whatever else I expected we'd encounter.